A writer of many prize winning short stories and poems, Shaun Allan has written for more years than he would perhaps care to remember. Having once run an online poetry and prose magazine, he has appeared on Sky television to debate, against a major literary agent, the pros and cons of internet publishing as opposed to the more traditional method

Many of his personal experiences and memories are woven into Sin’s point of view and sense of humour although he can’t, at this point, teleport.

Yo-diidly-ho! Sin-sin-siree at your service. ‘Tis a while since we last spoke, for which I’m eternally sorry. Well, at least until the end of this visit, anywho. I keep trying to pop up now and again, but that Shaun Allan fella-me-lad has his head in mermaids at the moment. I can’t get a look in!Thankfully, to keep me company in the meantime, a young lady has dropped by.Would you care to...Read more of this blog post »

Shaun Allan said:
"
This is my first ever autobiography, and I was bought it as a present by my fiancee for Christmas. I think Michael is one of the funniest men around at the moment, and tickets to see him were also under my tree! The book doesn't dissapoint. I was lauThis is my first ever autobiography, and I was bought it as a present by my fiancee for Christmas. I think Michael is one of the funniest men around at the moment, and tickets to see him were also under my tree! The book doesn't dissapoint. I was laughing from the off and ca imagine him saying all of this on stage. From his birth to the 'waxing lyrical on, waxing lyrical off' to his pursuit of the woman he was to marry, I was laughing or smiling all the way. Almost finished and I have to say, I've thoroughly enjoyed my first autobiography....more
"

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"Wings by Shaun Allan is desolate, beautiful, and achingly haunting. Allan manages to bring a new idea to the table when most are thinking romance or survivalist stories that come with the seclusion of a cabin in the woods anthology.

"Interesting anthology of 16 short stories. A great book to curl up with a winter's day. I liked Sober because it had quality writing, a depth to the story and strong characters. Tobacco and Pine was intriguing - I just wanted more. There were a co..."
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"I have lately begun to rediscover my love of the short story, whiling my Sunday afternoons away on my back porch, reading the many wonderful anthologies that are beginning to grace the digital shelves at Amazon. Reading short stories allows me to..."
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Nurture Your BOOKS™ is a global, online, independent author and book promotion company based in Ontario, Canada; it is owned and run by the company'sNurture Your BOOKS™ is a global, online, independent author and book promotion company based in Ontario, Canada; it is owned and run by the company's CEO and Founder, Bobbie Crawford. Nurture Your BOOKS™ rises above industry standards by offering clients contract-free support and professional author services at an affordable price. They provide their expertise and knowledge to a growing number of authors, both Independent and Traditional/Legacy Published, who require assistance with marketing, promoting and selling their books.
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Our Goals Are To Help Promote Authors, Introduce Indie Authors and Books To Readers, Provide Editorial Reviews, Give Advice and Have Book Discussions. Our Magazine Can Be Downloaded FREE From Magster. Also Join Us Online And Tune In To The Navigating INDIEWORLD Radio Show!
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Do you read more than one book at a time? Do you have stacks of books to be read on your table? Keep buying more books when you have books you haven'tDo you read more than one book at a time? Do you have stacks of books to be read on your table? Keep buying more books when you have books you haven't read? If you do, you are living the life of a book addict. We also do book giveaways with publishing companies and the authors join us to discussion their books. Come join us on our journey....more

Wouldn't Grimsby make a brilliant setting for a Doctor Who episode? He and his 'current' travel companion would go back to the 9th Century, locate Grim and battle the nefarious Master. It would be some diabolical plot, of couse.

Natasha wrote: "Thank you for connecting with me on goodreads, I look forward to sharing some good books and some not so good good books with you -♥-Sincerely NatashaParanormal Goddess [Book Blog]http://parano..."

Natasha wrote: "Thank you for connecting with me on goodreads, I look forward to sharing some good books and some not so good good books with you -♥-Sincerely NatashaParanormal Goddess [Book Blog]http://parano..."

Thank you for connecting with me on goodreads, I look forward to sharing some good books and some not so good good books with you -♥-Sincerely NatashaParanormal Goddess [Book Blog]http://paranormal-goddess.blogspot.com

There were no sounds from the kitchen. There wouldn't be. Sarah was sitting in her chair, holding her coffee. She wasn't noticing the heat was burning her hand. Martin was holding the useless phone in his hand. He was staring out of the kitchen window, possibly at the spot where the famous hill had once been.

I picked up his keys from the hall table where he'd left them and walked out of the front door. I didn't hear the flames start to lick the wall behind the cooker, but I knew they were. I didn't smell the smoke curling along the hallway but yes, I knew it was.

Perhaps it was following me. Perhaps it was saying goodbye. Perhaps the smoke was reaching out to coax me back, so I could enjoy the same fate that I'd handed to poor Sarah and her wonderful rapist husband.

He'd engineered their relationship. Bumping into her so she'd spill her drink on him only days after her discharge. The old ways were the best. He knew her history. He could be sympathetic. Was he a monster for doing so? Needing to be so much in control raping her wasn't enough - he had to dominate her entire life?

No. That wasn't it. Yes, for the rape he was a beast. But the rest? It was his reparation. His repentance. To care and to provide for the woman who he'd torn apart. To help mend the wounds, even though she didn't know he was the one who wounded her. It was his purgatory to be reminded each moment of each day of the vile act he'd inflicted upon her.

Did that forgive him? Did that make amends for his actions? Did that make him a good guy? A saviour? Beast become Beauty? Was I defending him in an attempt to defend myself? Was there a defence, or did one's actions taint one's soul for the rest of one's sorry life?

Ask me another. Anyway it wasn't Martin's past conduct that had damned him, it was his current. I wasn't going to let him hand me over. I wasn't going to let the good doctor get his greasy hands on me again. The drugs don't work, the Verve once said. Dr. Connors didn't give a flying flip about that. How Sarah had managed to escape his clutches I don't know. Perhaps that was down to Martin too. History, and my inner voices, didn't relate. All hail the laydee.

I had to stop them. I had to. But by killing them? Could I not have talked to them? Reasoned maybe? Look guys. I'm not that bad. I'm not crazy. True, I can teleport and kill people with my mind, but I'm not insane. Honest!

What would I have said? Hardly the truth. They would have been on the phone quicker than a rabbit out of a fox hole, with Connors as the fox and me as the gory remains of the cute little bunny.

I have a tattoo of a fox on my upper right arm. It's a symbol, to me, of freedom. But the doctor is the dark side of the fox. Vulpine instincts drive him. Why kill the chicken for lunch when you can slaughter the whole coup?

I'd taken three steps towards the dirt-washed van when I heard it. I might have missed the sound at any other time. Would have in fact. But around me all had become suddenly hushed. Mr. Bluebird on my shoulder, or at least the crows in the fields and the light buzz of insects had been muted as if by a great remote control. In space only Sigourney Weaver can hear you scream. Her Majesty the alien queen could have been standing behind me and I wouldn't have heard her. The sound had been sucked from the world like lemonade through a straw till not a drop remained. Were the fauna in the flora biting their collective tongues in protest at what I'd done? Did it resent me causing the fire that would soon consume this house and all who sailed in her? Perhaps. The silence echoed around me, non-existent whispers crawling up my spine. Not a whistle or a rustle or a caw. Not even the crackle of a flame.

Except...

A baby.

Crying.

From inside the house.

The spell was broken - the hex halted. The sound rushed back into the air like the seal on a vacuum suddenly fractured. Crows yelled from the trees at me. A bee had given up on bumbling and was spinning around my head in a crazed dervish. A buzzing had erupted from around me as if the ground itself was vibrating.

Everything was screaming at me. THE BABY.

I could tell myself - fool myself if that's what you want to call it - that Martin and the boy deserved their fates. In fact I may well have been Fate's own personal gopher, doing the job's he, or she, hated. Why would Fate get his hands dirty when I had a perfectly good pair to sully?

Actually, I always thought of Fate as a woman. Definite female tendencies there, don't you think?

The baby.

I turned and I ran. The front door had been drifting shut, a feeble attempt to bar my way. I crashed it open and took the stairs three at a time. I didn't need to think about which door to open; my hand took the handle, turned and pushed.

The nursery was decorated in yellow and Pooh was dancing across the walls with Piglet and Eeyore. And in a wooden cot (all the better to go up in flames, my dear) just inside the door was the baby. She had her mother's eyes and had stopped crying as soon as I entered. I took her up in my arms and was back out the front door before I'd taken another breath.

I stood trembling for the longest time, still not breathing. I didn't deserve a breath. The girl, doe eyed and pink romper-suited, looked up at me and...

Cooed. Then smiled.

Her name was Morgan. Morgan Alexandra to be precise. And she had just forgiven me.

A silver Mercedes was parked to one side. A car seat was in position behind the driver's. The car unlocked automatically as I approached and I gently fastened Morgan into her chair.

I walked as calmly as I could back to Martin's van and climbed in. As I drove away the couple in the kitchen slowly stood and left the house, collecting the keys to the Mercedes on the way. The flames in the kitchen died as they smiled at Morgan Alexandra and started the engine. I turned left out of the gate, knowing they'd turn right, and knowing that they were just going into town to buy a few essentials. Disposable nappies. Toilet roll. Baby wipes. You know the sort of thing.

It would be three days before they noticed the van missing. Probably a week or two before they decided to redecorate the kitchen. It was looking tired. Needed a face lift.

"A bit like me," Sarah would joke.

They wouldn't see the scorch marks or the smoke damage. And they wouldn't remember me.

Two miles? Three? No more than that. No more than three miles before I had to stop, open the door and vomit my bacon breakfast onto the side of the road.

Shame, that. I'd enjoyed it.--

"Sin" by Shaun Allan is a 105,000 word supernatural thriller that has been described as a 'masterpiece of genuine creativity'.

A free sample is now available from either the Smashwords or Amazon links at my website. There's also a video trailer, excerpts and reviews, along with the origins of the story: http://www.shaunallan.co.uk/sin.php

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